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“You young ladies,” said Mr. Daney, addressing
the two young women on duty, “may take a walk
around the block. Port Agnew will not require
any service for the next twenty minutes.”

They assimilated his hint, and when he was alone with
the chief operator Mr. Daney ordered her to switch
the New York call on to Mrs. McKaye at The Dreamerie.
Followed ten minutes of “Ready, Chicago.”
“All right, New York. Put your party on
the line!”—­a lot of persistent buzzing
and sudden silence. Then: “Hello, Port
Agnew.”

Mr. Daney, listening on the extension in the office
of the manager, recognized the voice instantly as
Nan Brent’s.

“Donald is ill with typhoid fever. We are
afraid he is not going to get well, Miss Brent.
The doctors say that is because he does not want to
live. Do you understand why this should be?”

“Yes; I think I understand perfectly.”

“Will you come back to Port Agnew and help save
him? We all think you can do it, Miss Brent.
The doctors say you are the only one that can save
him.” There was a moment of hesitation.
“His family desires this, then?” “Would
I telephone across the continent if we did not?”

“I’ll come, Mrs. McKaye—­for
his sake and yours. I suppose you understand
why I left Port Agnew. If not, I will tell you.
It was for his sake and that of his family.”

“Thank you. I am aware of that, Miss Brent.
Ah—­of course you will be amply reimbursed
for your time and trouble, Miss Brent. When he
is well—­when all danger of a relapse has
passed—­I think you realize, Miss Brent,
all of the impossible aspects of this unfortunate affair
which render it necessary to reduce matters strictly
to a business basis.”

“Quite, dear Mrs. McKaye. I shall return
to Port Agnew—­on business—­starting
to-morrow morning. If I arrive in time, I shall
do my best to save your son, although to do so I shall
probably have to promise not to leave him again.
Of course, I realize that you do not expect me to
keep that promise.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, my dear girl, that
I cannot say ‘No’ to that. But then,
since you realized, in the first place, how impossible”

“Good-night. I must pack my trunk.”

“Just a minute, my girl,” Andrew Daney
interrupted. “Daney speaking. When
you get to Chicago, call up the C.M. St. P. station.
I’ll have a special train waiting there for
you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Daney. I’m sorry
you cannot charter an airplane for me from New York
to Chicago. Good-night, and tell Donald for me
whatever you please.”

“Send him a telegram,” Daney pleaded.
“Good-by.” He turned to the chief
operator and looked her squarely in the eyes.
“The Laird likes discreet young women,”
he announced meaningly, “and rewards discretion.
If you’re not the highest paid chief operator
in the state of Washington from this on, I’m
a mighty poor guesser.”